My Oxygen
by JACmRob
Summary: “Let’s face it, JD.” The doppelganger slowly ran the blade across his palm; trickles of blood welled up and coursed down his arm. “Nobody is missing you.” Major JDA, suicidal themes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So i've been wanting to write a Scrubs fanfic for a while, and have had this idea based off of one of the episodes of Grey's Anatomy. It isn't the same, but there is a similar plot element based on a couple of scenes. ps. Italics are a flashback.**

**My Oxygen, Chapter 1**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Scrubs, or Grey's Anatomy.**

* * *

"Come on, Elliot, it not _that_ bad!" JD countered, hurrying behind the blonde doctor.

"Not that _bad_?" she shrieked, her voice squeaking out of the range of human hearing on the word 'bad.' He winced. "JD I slept with a man to find out he was _married_!"

She quickened her stride, yanking open the door to the doctor's lounge ferociously.

"You just made a mistake, is all," he said, following her in, trying to think of something to soothe her with. "Remember Tasty Coma Wife?"

"It's not the same! Her husband was _dead_, not in the next _room_! _Frick_!"

"Well technically he was, just in a casket…" JD trailed off as Elliot gave him a look that could match Jordan. Fortunately, Turk and Carla stepped into the room.

"How is she?" Turk muttered in his ear. "Still freakin' out?"

"Yep," he replied.

"You two are _not_ helping," interjected Carla, giving each of them the eye. "Elliot…" she sat next to her at the table.

"I'm a whore," Elliot moaned.

"Shhhh, sweetie, you're not a whore…" Carla soothed, rubbing her back as she buried her face in her hands.

"I'm a home-wrecker, just like my mother! You guys must hate me…"

"Elliot, we don't judge!" Turk said. "None of us are perfect. Hell, we've all done stupider things! In college I slept with JD's girlfriend!"

JD glared at him. I always knew it, he thought.

"That's not as bad as what I did!"

"What about me?" tried Carla. "When I was in highschool I—" she faltered, and then continued in an ashamed voice, "I helped one of my friends buy drugs. Anyway, they were found in the girl's locker room and when I was questioned, I lied and gave someone else's name. She was expelled. I still feel horrible about it…"

"That's awful," said Elliot, in a quiet voice.

"Baby, I never knew that!" Turk exclaimed.

"Yeah well," Carla gave a grimace, "It's not something I usually admit to the public. So Elliot, what you did, well, there's worse."

Dr. Cox popped up from behind the couch, newspaper in hand.

"Take it from someone like me, Barbie," he said, "Hell, I'm a border-line alcoholic!"

"I've smoked pot," offered Turk.

"I once tried to kill myself," JD said.  
They all turned to stare at him, gaping. He felt his eyes widen.

"I… didn't mean to say that out loud."

* * *

The silence was suffocating. JD couldn't stand it any longer, and quickly turned and hurried out of the room. In an instant, Turk and Carla were following him. He quickened his pace. He knew they'd be questioning him, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about _it_, or remember it at all.

"JD wait up!" Carla called.

He half-ran to the end of the hallway, pressing the button for the elevator. _Please come, please come_, he thought. Ding! The doors opened and he slid in, pressed for the ground floor, and began jabbing at the 'door close' button. Come on… The doors began to slide shut, but not before Carla sidled in. _Damn_. Turk, behind collided with the door and JD heard him crash to the ground and swear loudly.

JD tried to nonchalantly lean up on the railing. He felt Carla's eyes on him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, never better, why shouldn't I be?" He said this all very fast, and saw Carla's look. Nothing got past her, even when it was in coherent sentences. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Nothing's wrong if that's what you think."

"Bambi," she said softly, "I'm not an idiot. It's a mother's instinct."

"You're not a mother," he said, put out.

"Don't get that tone with me, Bambi," Carla retorted, doing that thing with her finger Laverne was so good at. Damn her and her Latino-blood! "Turk and I will keep trying, and in the mean time, I want to see if you're okay, which you're obviously not if you tried to kill yourself!"

"You know what, Carla? Just mind your own business!" he snapped. She looked shocked, but fell silent. At that moment the elevator doors opened and he was able to whip through the lobby and out into the parking lot, leaving Carla staring wide-eyed.

He pulled his helmet off Sasha. It was dark. His hands shook as he fastened it around his head. _Don't think about it, don't think about it_, he silently chanted. He screwed up his eyes, breathing in short pants. _Don't think about it_. It happened years ago, it was over. _Don't think about it_. He inhaled and then exhaled slowly, calming himself. He wished his hands would stop shaking. He climbed onto Sasha and drove out of the parking lot. The cold night air bit at him. The roads would be icy tonight, perfect for sliding, perfect for accidents—_don't think about it_. It'd be so easy to slip off the road…

_Crash._

_The car flipped through the air, compressing at the impact._

_Pain._

_Searing pain._

_Everything was frozen, suspended, completely dark. The pain that had been there a second ago had gone, replaced by nothing. He couldn't move, he didn't remember how to move. Time passed, he didn't know how long. Maybe an instant. Maybe more._

_He blinked. Dizzy red lights popped up everywhere, and suddenly there was sound. Voices were talking very quickly, shouting, a siren was blaring, someone was screaming—was it him?_

_He blinked again. People were moving, hurriedly, in blurred outfits. Someone was pulling him, lifting him out. He tried to form a word—no! He looked to his side, the passenger side._

_He saw blood._

JD gasped, pulling Sasha to the side of the road. He sat there, shaking compulsively, trying to regain control of himself. His heart was pounding a million miles an hour. He didn't know how long he sat there, shivering in the cold, resisting the urge to vomit. Finally, he maneuvered the bike back onto the road and drove home.

_Don't think about it._

* * *

a/n: So. My first chapter. Please honestly tell me what you think: comments, criticism, anything. I love reviews. Go for it.

I've been wanting to write a Scrubs chapter fic for a while... yay, i've actually started it! Update'll be coming soon!

REVIEWWWW

-JR


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

JD woke up that morning more tired than he had gone to sleep, if that was possible. But then again, he barely even slept at all, and when he did his dreams were plagued by sirens and flashing lights, and cold water. He lay on top of the sheets, wishing he didn't have to get up and go to Sacred Heart that day. _Of course, Kelso would kill me if I so much as walked in late,_ he thought ruefully.

He remembered that Turk and Carla had both been on the nightshift, and would be getting home soon. He decided to get up and go to the hospital early, to avoid crossing paths with them, and reluctantly pulled himself out of bed. _You'll have to face them some time_, the voice in his head reasoned, as he looked under the bed for a clean pair of scrubs. Stupid inner monologue.

He poured himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast, but found himself unable to eat after only a couple of bites. Abandoning the attempt, he gulped down a lukewarm cup of coffee and headed out of the apartment.

He'd just stepped foot in the parking lot when he heard familiar voices.

"…you talked to him since his shift ended?"

Stealthily JD leapt behind a bush.

"Baby, he was probably sleeping. We'll see him this morning."

Carla muttered something inaudible and JD strained to hear Turk's reply.

"Well talk to him, he'll understand. He was probably just—"

But Turk's next words were cut off but the swish of the door closing. Sighing, JD stepped out from behind the bush and walked over to Sasha. He hated being a burden to his friends. _If only I'd kept my mouth shut_, he thought, climbing onto Sasha. Instead, he'd opened a wealth of doors he'd been trying to shut for years.

* * *

JD entered the hospital praying he wouldn't run into Dr. Cox. The last thing he needed was to have some awkward interrogation and then be called a girl's name. _He's your boss_, that annoying inner conscience nagged. _You're going to see him today anyway. _He ignored it. Thankfully, he made it to the locker room without incident.

He had just thrown his bag into his locker and turned around when Elliot stepped through the door. They faced each other for a minute until JD awkwardly extracted the words,

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So…" he cast around for any subject other than the one they were both thinking. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know," she said, with a gauche grimace, "…Better. How—How are you?"

"I'm—" his throat caught.

_Vzzz._

He jumped. His cell phone was vibrating in his pocket.

"I'd better get this," he muttered, pulling it out and heading for the door. He looked at the caller ID. Dan.

"Hello?" He sidestepped into an empty stairwell.

"Hey little brother!"

"Dan!" He said, attempting enthusiasm. "How are you?"

"I'm great, how are you doing?"

Dan sounded falsely cheery over the line, the way he sounded when he delivered bad news or needed a favor. JD had a shrewd suspicion for the reason he was calling.

"I'm fine… any specific reason for this call?"

"Do I need a reason to call you just to check in?" He replied, trying to sound cavalier.

"You never call 'just to check in,'" JD countered, confused.

"I'm just calling to say 'hey!' I know how you get this time of year."

"I told you, Dan, I'm fine," he muttered defensively.

"Well you don't sound fine."

There was a silence.

"Look, I know how you get," Dan repeated. "Just… call me if things get bad, okay?"

"I will, stop worrying about me," he answered.

"Oh and JD?" he sounded hesitant. "Are you going to visit her again this year?"

"'Course I am, I do every year," he retorted, angry at Dan for bringing her up.

"Maybe you shouldn't," he said. "It isn't… healthy."

"I do every year."

"Okay, okay," Dan yielded. "It was just a suggestion. Anyway, I've got to go, so I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," he said.

"See ya, little brother," was the last thing he heard before the line went dead. Sighing, he flipped the phone shut and checked the time. 7:03. Damn—his shift had started three minutes ago!

He clambered up the staircase and skidded past the nurse's station, where Laverne gave him a reproving look, and into the back of the group for rounds. Dr. Kelso had just finished grilling one of the second year residents to tears and thankfully hadn't noticed his entrance.

"And now, who can tell me about Mrs.—" his eyes flipped down to the clipboard, "—Melia?" _Not me, not me, not me_, JD thought desperately.

"How about Dr… Dorian?" Damn it.

"Mrs. Melia…" he began, clearing his throat. Shoot—what the hell was wrong with her? Think, damn it, think! "Mrs. Melia suffered sudden cardiac arrest and we've been treating her with… small dosages of Amrodarone while monitoring her heart—"

"Wrong!" sang out Dr. Kelso. "Dr. Adams?"

"We've taken her off the Amrodarone and given her a surgical consult—she's scheduled to have her valve replaced next week," recited a freckled resident.

"Very good," Kelso replied, turning to face him. "A little behind on the times, are we, Dorian?" he snapped. "Pay attention!"

* * *

Once rounds were over, JD dragged himself to the nurse's station. Someone rushed past, dropping three charts on the counter next to him. He looked up to see the retreated head of Dr. Cox. _Great_, he thought. _He's avoiding me_. He picked up the first chart and navigated to the room.

"Hi, Stephen," he said, glancing quickly at the clipboard, "I'm Dr. Dorian." The patient was a teenage boy with a gaunt face and jet black hair. He acknowledged JD with a nod of his head.

"It says here you were hospitalized last night for multiple lacerations to the forearm—"

JD looked up, a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. The boy's wrists were bandaged.

"Um…" he felt his mouth drying. "I'm going to let Nurse Tisdale take care of you, while I…" he quickly handed the chart to her and swallowed, trying to think of something to say. When nothing came, he hurried out of the room and nearly sprinted to the nearest bathroom. Once inside he rested his head against the mirror, closing his eyes and trying to control his breathing. The mirror felt cool against his sweaty skin…

_He sat on the bathroom toilet, his hand shaking. He pressed the razor blade against the skin on his wrist, feeling metal. He wished his hand would stop shaking. He took a deep breath and pulled the razor downwards. It barely nicked the skin—a small bead of blood welled up from the cut and tricked down to his palm. _

_Taking another deep breath, he repositioned the razor and pulled again, this time harder. He gasped. The skin tore, sending a jolt of pain through his body and turning the jagged edges of skin red. He pressed a cloth to the injury holding it there until the pain subsided to a dull throb and the cut stopped bleeding. He pulled down his sleeve, wiping his hands and his eyes._

One of the stall doors opened. JD jumped and pretended to be washing his hands, trying not to think about the memory that had just cropped up. Dr. Cox walked to the sink beside him. JD looked away quickly. He wished his hands would stop shaking.

"You look like shit."

He chose not to respond.

"That was some bomb you dropped yesterday."

"What's it to you?" he said, too exhausted to care.

Dr. Cox gave him a long, piercing stare. JD felt like he was being x-rayed. He gripped the edge of the sink to steady his hands.

"Go home."

"I can't, my shift's just started," he protested.

"Then do some paperwork, or something where you can't kill anyone out of overtiredness," he replied, drying his hands. "I'll cover your patients."

JD was shocked. Dr. Cox was actually doing something nice for him? But he felt too awful to question it, or even grovel like he usually would.

"Oh and Newbie?" He looked up. Dr. Cox was standing in the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, and then decided against it. "Never mind."

He walked out of the bathroom, leaving JD alone and feeling smaller than ever.

* * *

A/N: Review this chapter. I really don't know what to comment. ) Will get more exciting, I promise

--JR


	3. Chapter 3

My Oxygen, by JACmRob

**Chapter 3**

JD looked up from the desk, sighing, and resting his head on the back of his chair. Charts were, long, dull work, but at least they kept you occupied, and kept your mind off everything else. He rubbed his eyes and then bent over to enter some numbers when the door opened.

"Bambi!" It was Carla. "I haven't seen you all day!"

She didn't look mad, but was scrutinizing him indiscreetly.

"I thought your shift didn't start until four today," he said.

"It didn't," she replied, looking at him strangely. "It's almost five o'clock now! How long have you been here?"

Five o'clock? Had it really been that long? His shift has ended at two!

"Dr. Cox has been wondering where you are," she continued. "Have you been in here all day?"

"I don't know," he answered, running a hand through his hair. "I must have lost track of time." He began piling up the charts.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Carla pressed. "You've been acting really strange lately…"

"Yes, Carla, I'm fine!" he retorted. She looked hurt. "Sorry," He muttered. Immediately, he felt guilty. It was the second time he'd snapped at here in the past two days. What was getting into him? He could usually keep it together this time of year, at least so no one noticed he was acting any differently from the way he normally did.

"Really Carla, don't worry about me," he said. He tried to crack his lips into a smile, but it must have come out as something more of a grimace. Carla looked at him with a pained expression, but said no more. He grabbed the stack of charts on the desk and swept out of the room.

Walking down the hall, he suddenly realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten in hours. He spotted the back of Dr. Cox's head in one of the patient's rooms, and made a b-line for the nurse's station to avoid him. Unfortunately, The Todd stepped right in his way, smiling idiotically.

"Move it, Todd," he said through gritted teeth. The grin vanished from his face for a second, but came again so quickly it was almost alarming.

"Pissed-off-five," he said enthusiastically, raising his right hand. JD ducked out of the high-five only to collide with a gurney.

_Crash!_

The gurney kept on moving, sending him and his pile of charts clattering to the floor. He heard several people snigger. JD winced, sitting up. The Todd hovered above him.

"I'm-sorry-five?" he said hesitantly.

JD gave him a death-glare, which was enough to send him on his way. Furious and humiliated, he got on his knees and began piling up the clipboards and folders.

"Really, Maryanne," said a sardonic voice. JD sighed. Great. Just the person he wanted to see.

"I didn't think it was possible for anyone to be more completely inadequate, but I guess I was wrong," Dr. Cox continued. JD stood up, the charts in his arms.

"I mean, come _on_, Caroline. Where have you been all day? Hasn't your shift been over for hours? Did someone forget to put on her Barbie-Wondergirl watch this morning, or did you just think, 'well gee, this dump could use some more help so why don't I be an A-plus-plus student?'"

"I lost track of time," JD retorted dully.

"Well here's the secret Newbie." Dr. Cox leaned in close and whispered, "The A-plus-plus students, they're the ones who end up in Africa with AIDs because they want to be do-gooders."

JD opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Cox cut him off.

"Get out of here!" he barked, gesturing at the door. He then turned around and walked away, still ranting.

"Gawd, Janet, will you _ever_ learn?"

Walking back to his locker to retrieve his coat, JD couldn't tell if Dr. Cox was trying to be nice to him, or just wanted someone to yell at. Nevertheless, due to the crappy day he, had he liked to think it was the former.

* * *

It was snowing out when JD walked into MMM's Bar. The snowflakes in his hair began to melt as he entered the heated room. Joe had decided to decorate for Christmas, hanging up fake wreaths and gaudy lights, and even a sad looking branch of mistletoe under which one drunken couple was happily making out. It was only quarter past five and already the place was beginning to fill. JD got a seat at the bar and ordered a burger.

"Want a beer to go with that, JD?" Joe asked, wiping the counter top with a dirty rag.

"Sure," he said, shrugging. He felt like crap, probably looked like crap, and needed something to take his pounding headache away.

"You know what, Joe," he interjected, "Why don't you make it two."

Joe passed him a bottle of Heineken, and he popped off the cap and took a long gulp. The alcohol buzzed pleasantly. _You'll regret this in the morning_, the voice in his head argued, but he ignored it, taking another sip.

By the time he finished his meal he was on his third beer. The liquor had lessened his misery, and he began to take notice of the blonde girl sitting next to him. They started talking, but he wasn't really sure about what—he found himself saying whatever came to his head, stupid daydreams and everything. He even launched into a story about floating-head-doctor. She, on the other hand, seemed to be finding everything funny. But then again, maybe she was drunk. What had she said her name was—Annie? Amy? She downed the last sip of her martini. He took another sip of his beer, finishing it.

"All out?" she asked.

"You know what, Joe," he said loudly, "Why don't you get two shots of… what ever's strongest, for me and the bee-_autiful_ woman next to me." He swayed a little on his stool. A glass was placed on the counter before him. He picked it up, and raised it.

"To shitty lives," he proclaimed. She laughed, nearly losing her balance and falling into him.

"To friends at bars!" she shouted. JD threw back the shot. The bitter liquid coursed down his throat. Everything was spinning a little, but maybe the room was just built on a slant, he reasoned.

"Another round!" the girl cried.

He didn't know how much time had passed but suddenly there were a lot more empty glasses on the counter around them, if he wasn't seeing double. Another glass was shoved into his hand.

"To one n-night stlands!" the girl next to him exclaimed. He gulped down the shot, returning the empty glass to the counter with a bang. He fell towards Annie/Amy leaning up against her for support and suddenly they were kissing, hard, and he tasted the alcohol on her breath. She pressed her hand against his chest, putting more force into the kiss until his lips felt raw and his hand was tangled up in her hair, or was it down her shirt? He pulled away.

"Do you like m-moterbikes?" he asked, pulling out the keys to Sasha. "We can go back to my place…" he leaned in and they were kissing again. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder and someone was talking to him. It sounded very far away.

"What?" he shouted, unwinding himself from the blonde.

"I said," Joe articulated, "No one's driving _anywhere_ tonight!"

"Come on, you're wr-r-recking the fun!" Annie/Amy shrieked, slipping again so he had to catch her to stop her from falling off the stool.

"Forget it," Joe said impatiently. "You got a phone, JD? I'm calling a driver."

With difficultly JD extracted his cell from his pocket.

"I'll trade it for another round of your f-finest," he said.

"I'm not playing games here," the bartender snapped grabbing for it. JD held it out of his reach.

"No drinks, no phone!"

A shot glass was placed on the counter. He tossed his phone at Joe and downed the drink. Before he knew it, he was making out with the blonde chick again.

"JD!" Who was that? He pulled away from her. How much time had passed?

"JD, what the frick?!" He looked up and saw two Elliots standing in front of him, both wearing blue scrubs and a frown.

"Who's that?" the blond slurred, hanging on to his arm. "Are we having a threesome?"

Elliot jumped forward and slapped her away, grabbing onto his arm.

"W-what'r you doing Elliot, I was jus' having a couple drinks!" he protested. She pulled him off the stool and he sank to the floor. She yanked him up and he took a staggering step.

"You're drunk, JD!" she shouted. "And I get the call to come pick you up! Now we're going!" He leaned on her for support and took a couple steps.

"Why are you talking so _loud_?" he asked, wincing. Her high-pitched 'angry' voice sounded ten times louder tonight.

"The door is the _other_ way," she said, spinning him around and marching him out of the room.

"C'mon Elliot," he muttered, as she pushed him into her car. "Don't stop a playa' when he's about to get laid!"

"Stop trying to act like Turk," she snapped. "I can't believe you'd do something like this! What's gotten into you lately?"

They were driving, but it felt like he was on a rollercoaster. His stomach churned. He really hoped he didn't throw up—Elliot would kill him for doing it in her car.

"And you wanted to _drive_ home tonight? You could have _killed_ someone!"

A shiver ran through his body.

"I'm sorry!" he cried. "I didn't mean to!"

She looked at him. "Relax, JD, you didn't kill anyone."

He wrapped his arms around his body, squeezing his eyes shut. Everything seemed very blurry. Suddenly he wasn't sure where he was anymore—in the car with Elliot or back home. "I didn't mean to kill her!" He was shaking.

"JD!" Elliot said, but he didn't know where she was anymore.

"_I'm sorry!"_

_They only stared past him, stone cold. _

"_I didn't mean to! I didn't! I swear!" _

_Tears dripped from his mother's eyes as she gripped a photograph in her hands. _

"_Please, you have to believe me!" he begged, running to her, and grabbing her hands. She pushed him away._

"_Just look at me!" he cried, dashing to his father. "I'm sorry!"_

_His father slapped him across the face, before turning and leaving the room. He raised a hand to his cheek, and felt it throbbing as a bruise began to form. Tears welled up in his eyes._

"_Mom…" _

_She refused to acknowledge him. He knelt down next to her._

"_Mom, please," he said, his voice breaking. "I know it's all my fault, but I didn't mean to. Please just talk to me…"_

_She finally looked up at him but her eyes were icy. Her voice came out as no more than a whisper._

"_Don't you _ever_ speak to me again, John. What you did is unforgivable." _

"_Please…"_

_She seized his wrist and looked him straight in the eye. _

"_I hate you."_

_A tear rolled down his cheek. She released his wrist and looked away, clutching the photograph to her chest. _

"JD!" Elliot shouted again. The car was stopped. "JD talk to me!"

He was still trembling.

"I'm sorry," was all he could mutter.

"My God!" she said, releasing a shaky breath. "I thought you were having a seizure or something! Are you alright?"

He didn't answer, just resisted the urge to vomit. She pulled him out of his car and into the apartment. His legs were shaky and he still couldn't tell right from left. Everything was turning.

"Elliot," he said. Why was everything crashing down? He felt so sick, and weak, and just wanted to forget, but everything he had suppressed was piling back up to the point where it felt like an immovable weight was resting on his chest. He didn't want to think, didn't want to be alone… She was standing close to him, resting her hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Elliot…" he repeated, locking her eyes into his. He grabbed her face and brought his lips crashing into hers. She pulled her arms around him, deepening the kiss. They wrestled for each other's mouths until he felt dizzy from lack of oxygen, falling back onto his bed. She pulled away.

"JD, we can't," she said. "You're drunk, and I…"

"Stay with me," he begged. "Please, stay with me tonight." His throat tightened. "Elliot, please, don't leave me alone, don't—"

He couldn't go on. She wrapped her arms around him and held him until he fell asleep.

* * *

A/N: Sorry I havn't updated in a while, i've been really busy. And on the same note, sorry about the Prozac thing. I couldn't think of any medications, so I just put in something random, intending to go back and fix it after looking it up online. Unfortunatly, I forgot.

Anyway, give me what you think of this chapter because I found it really hard to write. As mentioned, I love reviews.

Hopefully, I'll update soon. I've got big plans for the remaining chapters, but for now I'm trying to keep the mystery alive. See if you can guess what's going on!

--JR


	4. Chapter 4

My Oxygen, by JACmRob

**Chapter 4**

JD winced, tensing as the needle entered his skin. He then relaxed at the sweeping sensation of narcotics entering his system. Every muscle in his body loosened. Sighing, he lay back on the hospital bed and closed his eyes, letting the drugs ease his pounding headache.

He had woken that morning feeling sicker than he had in years. His skull had felt like it was going to split in two. Elliot had already risen and gone to the hospital—her shift started earlier than his. She had left an apology note and breakfast on the table. He had glanced at it despairingly—he didn't feel like he could stomach anything, but didn't want to be rude. However, after a couple bites it became apparent that eating was not a good idea and he threw the rest in the food disposer.

Somehow, after that, he had gotten to the hospital. He couldn't remember what time his shift was today, but didn't think he could function anyway. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark, quiet place and stay there until the pounding in his head subsided. He didn't want to think, or acknowledge that he was falling apart. Instead, he'd snuck into an examination room and fixed an IV in his arm, pounding painkillers into his body.

_This is wrong_, the accusing voice berated.

"Shut up," he said out loud, opening his eyes. He wished he'd gotten more sleep last night, but every time he closed his eyes he was back underwater… The only consolation had been Elliot's gentle breathing, her head rested on his shoulder.

He let is lids drop again. Suddenly, he heard two arguing voices outside the door. He sat bolt upright as the knob turned.

"There's an examination going on in here!" he called out quickly, but the door had already swung open revealing a purple-faced Dr. Kelso, and Turk close behind him. Kelso's eyes widened as he caught sight of the IV protruding from JD's arm.

"Dr. Dorian!" he thundered, his face contorting.

JD pulled out the IV and leapt off the bed, trying to find the words to explain himself. They never came.

"My office. _Now_."

_Shit._

Wordlessly, he exited the room, unable to meet either of their eyes. He felt Turk staring at him, his mouth gaping open. Despite the drugs, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach had returned.

JD entered Kelso's office and sat tentatively at a chair opposing the desk. Kelso marched in behind him, closed the door, and sat across from him, glaring.

"Dr. Dorian," he began, "You have just been caught stealing drugs from this hospital." His voice lowered dangerously. "Not only is this a serious offense, but it also means that you have been drinking or using drugs, and then coming into this building with the intention of working."

JD attempted to defend himself.

"Dr. Kelso, I—"

"You have endangered the lives of patients and the reputation of this hospital!" Kelso thundered. He looked down quickly. "God damn it, under no circumstances are you to come in here unless you are fully prepared to deal with people's lives! If you killed someone, _we_ would be liable! And if word got out that our own doctors were stealing drugs, Sacred Heart would be ruined! Do you know how hard I work to keep this hospital's accreditation by weeding out shoddy 'party-hard' doctors? You'll be lucky not to lose your job after pulling something like this! In fact—"

Kelso's rant was interrupted by the door being thrown open, revealing Dr. Cox.

"There you are, Newbie!" he growled. "Do you have any _idea_ what time it is?"

"Perry!" Dr. Kelso exclaimed, an arduous fake smile lighting his face, "How nice of you to join us! Perhaps you'd like to explain why _your_ resident was caught in an empty examination room with an IV of stolen drugs taped into his arm!"

JD was staring at his toes. He didn't even want to see the look on Dr. Cox's face. There was a long silence before Dr. Cox spoke. It was clear he was trying to defend JD, not that there was much he could do, by lightening up the situation.

"Well didn't you let him finish? He looks like a piece of crap."

Kelso raised his eyebrows, the scowl imprinting its self deeper on his face.

"Oh, come on, Bobbo," Dr Cox continued. "Don't tell me you've never sipped an IV before. Best hangover cure there is! Besides, is one slip-up enough to fire a good doctor? I mean," he inserted a laugh, "We all known you're the devil, big guy, but you've always toed the line, if not snuck the occ-_ational_ inch across it. Am I right?"

Kelso remained silent. JD held his breath. Was he considering letting him off? It seemed too much to ask for.

"Dr. Dorian, you are to be put on medical probation for the next two weeks, and if anything like this _ever_ happens again, you will be kicked out of this program faster than you can say 'beer-pong.' Are we clear?"

JD managed to nod.

"Then get your ass out of this hospital and don't return until you're in a fit condition!" Kelso barked.

"Yes, sir!" JD managed, jumping out of the chair and quickly leaving the room. Dr. Cox followed.

Once in the hallway, JD exhaled slowly, relieved. Two weeks of probation wasn't bad compared to what he could have faced.

"Thanks for having my back in there," he said to Dr. Cox, "I—"

But Dr. Cox cut him off.

"Listen up and listen well, Angelina," he said sharply, touching his nose and then folding his hands across his chest. JD jolted around and stood at attention.

"I may have just saved your ass back there but if you _ever_ pull anything like that again I will make _sure_ Kelso has it handed to you." He wasn't shouting, but it might have been better if he was. Anything beat this voice, edged with disappointment.

"I don't want to hear any excuses about your personal crap because the fact remains that the second you walk through these doors, it doesn't matter whether your crack-pot mother just _shot_ herself. You better make damn well sure you are as fit to work as any other day because these are people's _lives_ you're dealing with. So when you go home, think long and hard before you come back here, because if anything like that happens again, there will be no 'next-time.' Clear?"

JD nodded.

"Then get the hell out of here."

Dr. Cox turned and strode down the hallway, leaving JD. He felt awful—the pounding headache had returned worse than ever and a burning feeling of shame was building up in the pit of his stomach. Somehow, disappointing Dr. Cox was worse than the nastiest punishment Kelso could cook up for him. He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to do something like that. _God_! He was just as bad as the drug addicts he treated regularly who faked in juries just to get a fix. Guilt took a hold of him—things were spiraling out of control and every time he turned around something blew up in his face. _Why is this happening now?_ He was sick of thinking about everything that had happened to him. Instead, it felt like he'd lost control over everything and was sixteen years old again, wondering how things had gotten this bad.

_Vzzz._

He was startled out of his reverie by his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. Dan. He ignored it.

"JD!" It was Carla.

"_There_ you are," she said, striding up to him. "Come with me right now."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hallway.

"Carla, I have to get out of here," he protested. "I'm kind of in a lot of trouble…"

"I know!" she replied. "And that is why," she pulled open the door of the cafeteria and pushed him inside, "We need to see you."

She led him to a table where Turk and Elliot were sitting and gestured him into a seat.

"Look guys," he began, rubbing his eyes, "I'm really not feeling that great so I want to get home…"

"We need to talk to you," said Turk, folding his arms on the table. The other two were both looking at him with piercing eyes. "And since you've been avoiding us the past couple days, we decided this was the best way to do it."

"I haven't been avoiding you!" JD said indignantly.

"Dude, we've barely seen you the last two days, except when we catch you working late or you need a driver because you're too drunk to know right from left!"

JD shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Anyway, you haven't been the same lately and we wanted to talk to you."

"What is this, some sort of intervention?" he asked scoffingly.

Elliot cleared her throat and began in a gentle voice, "JD recently we've been noticing things about you that are concerning us."

"This _is_ an intervention!"  
"Bambi, we're worried about you!" Carla interjected. "Not talking to us, late nights drinking, _stealing drugs_—this isn't like you! We don't know what's going on, but we want to help you. And these behaviors are destructive!"

"Have you seen yourself lately?" Elliot asked. "You look like death! And you've been acting differently too! Something's wrong."

"_Nothing's_ wrong!" JD countered. He winced at the pounding in his head. He just wished they'd stop probing him. It was probably a wise decision not to mention the probation—he didn't need to give them any more fuel to their fire. "I'm _fine_. Stop worrying."

He stood up.

"Look, we're just lookin' out for you man," Turk put in angrily. "We know you, and know you're not going to tell us but we don't want you to go and do something—"

"Turk!" Carla interrupted, giving him a furvative look.

Turk continued, "—Do something dangerous or self destructive!"

There was a beat.

"You think I'm going to try and kill myself," JD said.

They all opened their mouths, perhaps to refute his statement, but no one found the words.

"Well…" Elliot said, her face going red.

JD felt his temper rising.

"I'm _not_ suicidal!" he said defensively. "I didn't mean to tell you that—it slipped out, and it was an accident, but it's in the past! I'm fine, and I'd appreciate it if you all got off my case!"

He kicked out his chair and stood up to leave.

"JD, please, just hear us out," Carla said desperately.

He whirled around.

"What do you have to say, Carla? Do you want to refer me to some good shrinks? Or maybe give me a prescription for anti-depressants! For the last time, I'm _fine_. I just have a splitting headache and need to get home and sleep before my next shift."

He strode out of the cafeteria, pushing through the double doors and letting them swing behind him.

"I'd listen to them, if I were you."

JD recoiled in shock, and, breathing heavily, turned around. The Janitor was leaning haphazardly on a mop, a bucket of detergent at his feet and his cart, stacked with supplies, beside him. Behind, the nurse's station had been decorated with glittering garlands and cheery santa hats.

"What?" he asked tensely.

"I said," the Janitor replied, talking slowly as if he were addressing a very unintelligent person (Although, in the Janitor's eyes, JD reasoned, he was), "If I were you I'd listen to your friends. They're probably right. But more importantly, you're always wrong."

"No I'm not!" JD retorted, "And I'm _not_ suicidal!"

"I never said you were," he said innocently.

"You implied it!" JD snapped.

The Janitor shrugged, and continued mopping the same spot on the floor.

"No, that was you."

"You know, that spot's probably clean by now," he muttered.

"Hey, are you a janitor?" he accused. JD opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. "I didn't think so. You're a suicidal doctor. Now that's a sad irony."

"I'm not suicidal!" JD shouted. "I don't need this," he mumbled, massaging his temples. He turned and walked in the opposite direction.

"Cameron!"

His blood ran cold. He stopped mid-step.

"W-what?"

"You have a sister named Cameron!" the Janitor called.

"How…" he began, and then stopped. "You don't know anything about her!"

JD couldn't take it anymore. He sprinted to the nearest stairwell and got out of the building as quickly as he could, taking the bus back to the apartment. It was snowing again.

How had the Janitor known?

He changed quickly into an old t-shirt and pajama bottoms. It was only one o'clock but already it felt like midnight and he had stayed up for hours. He collapsed on his bed, and curled up under the sheets. At 12am his next shift began, and his probation would start. God, how he wished he could just sleep forever! He didn't want to go back to the hospital and face his friends, and have to deal with them shooting him worried glances whenever they thought he wasn't looking.

"I'm not suicidal," he repeated out loud. There was no answer. He felt his eyelids dropping as he began to drift…

_It was snowing as when looked out the window. The house was quiet—he didn't know where his parents were, but they didn't talk to him anymore. Dan would be coming home from college soon to visit, but he didn't really feel like seeing him. Once Dan found out how bad things were he'd be subjected to pitying stares for the rest of the holiday. _

_He hugged his knees to his chest, pulling his sleeve just low enough to cover the angry red scars lacerating his arm. He let his head droop onto his knees. He wanted to make another cut on his wrist to try and cure the aching emptiness in the pit of his heart, but didn't even have the energy to walk to the bathroom. He felt too depressed to even move._

Maybe if I hold my breath long enough I'll die here_, he thought. _It's not like anyone would notice if I did. I deserve it.

_He let out a long exhale and counted the seconds he could last without taking a breath. Twenty-nine… thirty…He took a heaving intake of oxygen._

_Wimp. Baby._

_The day was drawing nearer_. Wouldn't that be an ironic homage, _he thought_, if I died that very day.

_You don't have the guts. _

Yes I do! I'll prove it. I wouldn't have to deal with this anymore. It'll be just like going to sleep for a very long time

_It'll hurt._

How do you know?

_Because I do._

Well I don't care. This hurts enough. I can take a few more seconds of pain.

_Then do it now._

_He took an intake of breath. _One… Two…_You're not worth anything anyway. You'll chicken out. _Eleven…_ You're so pathetic you can't even kill yourself! How sad is that? _Sixteen…_No one would miss you. They all hate you anyway. _Twenty one…_You don't have any friends. You don't even have any acquaintances! No one talks to you. _Twenty-eight…_It's all your fault, too. _Thirty-two…_Murderer…_

_He took a gasping breath, panting heavily._

_I told you. I knew you wouldn't have the spine. _

"_I'll… prove it…" he wheezed, "I'll prove it to you…"_

A/N: I enjoyed writing this chapter, but give me reviews with your opinions on the direction this story is taking. I'm kind of excited about what i've got planned for future chapters.

Anyway, i'm asking for a little reader input here. I'm going to have JD reveal something to a character in either the next chapter or the chapter after. So... I'd like to know which character you'd like it to be. I can't promise i'll go by what you say, but i'd like to have your opinions anyway. I'd love it if you did!

Reviews!

--JR

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

My Oxygen, by JACmRob

**Chapter 5**

JD gripped the steering wheel and stared out at the icy road ahead of him. Snow swirled into the windshield, only to be obliterated by the wipers. The sun should have been setting, but clouds obscured the darkening sky. He still had an hour, maybe more, left to drive, and the roads were worsening. _I hate driving in this weather_, he thought.

It was twelve years to the day. December 14th. Twelve years, and it still felt like yesterday. He felt sick and concentrated on the road, which was getting more treacherous by the minute. Kelso had been furious when JD told him that he needed to take the day off, after only one (boring) shift on probation. He'd made up a lie about a sick family member and while Kelso had bought it, he looked ready to throttle JD.

After, he'd written a hasty note informing Turk and Carla that he needed to go back home to "sort some things out" and wouldn't be back until the next day, and then rented a beat-up Honda and driven off. He knew Carla was probably running every worse-case-scenario over and over in her head while Turk fruitlessly tried to console her and dialed JD's cell every five minutes. It vibrated in his pocket again, like clockwork. It would either be Turk or Dan, with the occasional call from Elliot. He hated keeping them in the dark like this, but knew that telling the truth would only make things worse. He ignored the call and kept driving.

It was 8:36 when he passed the sign reading "Weclome to North Wessex" _(A/N: I made that up. I have no idea where the show takes place)_ that was almost completely buried by the snow. He felt a tight knot constrict in his chest. Home. He wondered what his parents were doing—if they were flying out to San Francisco to visit the rest of the family for the holiday. He hadn't seen them in years.

He was soon passing familiar streets, and stores, and houses. Places where he'd grown up. He drove past the park, dominated by a large lake that was sheathed in ice. A shiver ran down his back and he looked away. It wasn't long before he saw the sign and pulled into an empty lot past the gate. He got out of the car. The snow was coming down harder than ever, in frosted gales that swirled around his face, chilling him.

I'd been one year since he'd visited Cameron. One year, but he knew she'd be exactly the same. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked up the pathway, hunched over against the cold. She was waiting for him.

He looked at her for a moment.

"Hey Cam," he said softly. She didn't reply. "I know it's been a while…" he paused. "A year actually, but I'm here again. You probably know what I'm going to say by now."

She remained stoically silent. Everything welled up inside of him until he wanted to scream, but couldn't, wanted to fall into the snow beside her. There was an awful heaving in his chest, like he couldn't breathe. All of the past twelve years unearthed themselves, clawing at his insides. Condemning him. He'd always be condemned.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, clutching at his sides.

_Cameron Leah Dorian_

_1978-1993_

_Beloved Daughter and Sister_

"_They who touch us shall remain forever."_

Her absence was eternal- a gaping hole inside of him. He wished he could just be rid of the pain. He'd do anything to--

"JD!"

He blinked. Someone was standing behind him.

He didn't turn. The feeling of utter loss clawed at hid chest, anchoring him to the spot. He heard footsteps through the layer of snow.

"JD," Turk said, now at his side. JD didn't look up and he fell silent, while the snow fell noiselessly around them.

Finally, JD spoke. His voice was expressionless, hollow.

"She was my sister. My twin, actually. We were inseparable. Cameron and Johnny." He was quiet. "She was nothing like me. Always talking, always moving, always doing something. She had this…energy, this quality about her that was contagious. Everyone liked her; everyone wanted to be around her. She had big plans for the future. She wanted to be on Broadway, and she had the talent and drive to do it. She'd count down the days until she graduated and could go off to New York City and audition. We'd always joke that when she fell off a set piece at the end of her big number Johnny the doctor would be there to treat her. My parents adored her. Dan was the screw up, I was too quiet, but Cameron… she was their star."

There was a silence.

"What happened to her?" Turk asked softly.

JD felt his throat tighten.

"I killed her."

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the snow freezing his face.

"It was snowing and she convinced me to go to this party with her…"

* * *

"_Oh come on, Johnny! Stop being such a little baby!" Cameron tossed her long blonde hair. "It's the biggest party of the year!"_

"_Remember what happened last time, when Dad found that beer bottle in your room?" he argued._

"_That wasn't even mine, it was Allison's! I don't drink! Besides, Mom and Dad are out of town, and Dan's not home from college yet. Though I'm surprised any school accepted him," she added in an undertone._

"_Cam, it's snowing," he said, gesturing helplessly at the window. "The streets are going to be icy and you know we only have our permits. We aren't allowed to drive without being supervised by a family member."_

"_Thanks, Mom," she said, rolling her eyes and pulling on a jacket. "I'll supervise you, you supervise me, how's that unsupervised?"_

_He opened his mouth, but she cut him off._

"Please_, Johnny?" she pouted, tugging on his shirt. "It's just one party, and it's almost Christmas! What do you say?"_

"I forced her to let me drive."

"_Everyone knows I'm a better driver than you, Cam."_

"_That is so not true!" she fired back. "I know how you get when conditions are bad. You start freaking out."_

"_You're lucky I'm even coming, Miss Party-Hard," he retorted, snatching the keys from her. "I'm driving."_

"…But the snow was coming down hard…"

"_Turn that music off!" he snapped, trying to focus on the road. The snow was falling in sheets, swirling around the pavement and windshield, obscuring his vision._

"_Geez, you are such a wet blanket," she muttered, consenting. "Can't you drive a little faster?"_

"_I'm already going thirty-five!"_

"There was a patch of ice ahead and I didn't see it. The car skidded…"

"_Look out!" Cameron shouted, "Ice!"_

_Suddenly the car was spinning. She reached over to grab the wheel from him, but—_

_There was the screech of tires, and then—impact._

"_We hit another car coming from the opposite direction."_

_The Mercedes was thrown into the air. It rolled twice, folding like a piece of tin. JD felt the entire car shudder and a burst of pain erupt in his leg and the back of his head. His vision blackened and doubled; his nerves were on fire. Pain. He tried to move, but suddenly everything fell into nothingness._

"When the paramedics arrived they pronounced her dead on impact."

Turk put his hand on JD's shoulder.

"It's all my fault," he said. "I was young, and—and stupid, and now she's dead."

"You deal with stuff like this every day," Turk said. "You know what this is—survivor's guilt. It's not your fault."

He shook his head.

"This is different." _I did this to her. I should be punished._

They stood in silence.

"We should get home," Turk said. "It's getting late."

"You go," he replied. "I'll catch up with you."

Turk turned and JD listened as his footsteps faded to silence. He shivered in the cold. Why did Cameron deserve to die, while he lived? By surviving the crash, he had been killed even so.

He turned from the grave and stared out at the lake across the street.

_It was covered in a thin layer of ice. He saw his image reflected across it. Thin, pale skinned, with bags under his eyes. He looked unhealthy. He exhaled a smoky breath and watched as the mist curled and vanished. He turned his eyes down to the water beneath him._

Don't think about it, JD told himself. He plowed through the snow to get back to the car. His breathing quickened.

_He was here._

_It had been one year._

You won't do it_, the voice in his head whispered._

_He gritted his teeth. _

"_I'm sorry, Cameron," he whispered._

JD slammed the car shut, ramming the key into the ignition. He had to get out of here. He took a deep breath and felt his entire body shake.

_A tear rolled down his cheek. He took a deep breath, his feet rested on the edge of the pier. He'd tried to write goodbye notes to Dan and his parents but had given up half way through. Dan wouldn't understand and his parents already hated him._

No one cares, anyway_, the voice whispered. _They all hate you.

_Another tear rolled down his cheek. Would anyone miss him? Probably not._

Do it now.

_A wave of utter hopelessness engulfed him. This was it. The lake was completely still._

Do it…

_It was a layer of glass. He stared at his reflection one more time, with hate, with loathing, with—_

NOW!

_He took a step off the pier, shattering the mirror beneath him._

JD slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, racing out of the cemetery parking lot. _Don't_ think about it! His wheels spun through the snow. To his right, the lake gleamed menacingly.

_The water was ice. Every nerve in his body screamed at the impact. The numbing pain blinded him. He was underwater. The cold immobilized his limbs. He was floating beneath a river of fire, where flashing lights bloomed before his eyes like the apocalypse. He took a heaving intake of water, feeling searing pain blossom in the center of his chest. This was it. He was dying. Was this what Cameron had felt?_

_His head spun from lack of oxygen._

The brakes screamed as JD tried to avoid a patch of ice. The car skidded, sliding, slipping, spiraling out of his control—

_This was the end. Would he see a replay of his life haunt his eyes in his last living moments? Would there be a flash of color? Would he feel intense pain? Would he feel anything at all? Would he be allowed one last choking gurgle, the final sound he ever made before he plunged to a watery grave? Would it even matter, since, he realized, no one would ever hear it? _

The car spun off the road.

_Darkness._

_***_

A/N: I am eterally sorry for not updating in ages. School got busy, then came exams, and one thing led to another. I apologize with the intensity of a thousand suns. I promise to try and update soon, since I know I left this chapter at a cliffhanger. Muahaha.

Anyway, I got a lot of good suggestions for who I should have put in this chapter, but most of them didn't fit the situation. Both Dr. Cox and the Janitor wouldn't have known where JD was, where his hometown was, or that he had even gone. Turk fit, so I decided to give them some bro-love. Personally, I thought this chapter was pretty intense. Give me your thoughts.

More soon to come.

If you review, I will love you forever and bake you a virtual pie.

--JR

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

My Oxygen, by JACmRob

**Chapter 6**

* * *

The brakes screamed as JD tried to avoid a patch of ice. The car skidded, sliding, slipping, spiraling out of his control—

_This was the end. Would he see a replay of his life haunt his eyes in his last living moments? Would there be a flash of color? Would he feel intense pain? Would he feel anything at all? Would he be allowed one last choking gurgle, the final sound he ever made before he plunged to a watery grave? Would it even matter, since, he realized, no one would ever hear it? _

The car spun off the road.

_Darkness._

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't dead.

JD clenched the steering wheel, waiting for the burst of pain. After a minute he cracked open his eyes, looking down at his body. No blood. No gaping wounds. No agonizing pain.

Breathing heavily, he leaned back on the car's seat. He was alive, and all together unharmed. The statement should have made him feel overjoyed, but instead he felt almost… disappointed.

He peered out the window. Snow was falling heavier than ever, and the car was trapped in a ditch on the side of the road.

"Damn _it_!" JD groaned. It was late, and no one would be driving in this weather. He was stranded off the side of the highway in the dead of winter in the middle of a blizzard. He slumped back into the seat. He couldn't find the motivation to figure out what to do, or even imagine some ridiculous situation. He felt… feverish, like he'd just gotten over a bad bout of the flu. His near shave with death should have meant something more to him, but it didn't, and he wished it did. He should be feeling grateful for his life, not merely indifferent. He couldn't help but wonder what could have happened…

_Stop it_, he told himself sternly. He buried his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do, sitting in a broken down car in a rut on the road. The feverish shivers increased. _Stay in control_.

He needed to talk to someone. He needed someone to convince him that he _was_ grateful, that he did want to live.

_I want to live_. Even in his head, the statement sounded forced. _I want to live. I want to live. I want to d—_ He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"…Yeah?"

"Hey, Dan."

"Johnny!" His brother sounded worried. "How—how are you?"

The question sounded stupid, and JD knew it, and he was pretty sure that Dan knew it too.

"I'm…fine," he lied.

"Where are you?" Dan asked.

"Oh, um… I'm…"

"Home?" Dan supplied tensely.

"Well, yeah," JD answered, "But I'm, um… kind of in a car accident."

"_What_?"

"Well my car skidded off the road—hit some ice…" he muttered, trailing off.

"Jesus, Johnny! You're just sitting here on the phone with me while your car's in a ditch? Are you _okay_?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, "But I'm kind of… stuck."

"Jesus," Dan repeated. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't sound okay."

"I'm fine."

"You know, maybe that's your problem," Dan said. He sounded agitated, like there was something else he was trying to get at. "You're always _fine_. You're never _good_, or _bad_, or _great_, just _fine_."

"Do you really expect me to be better than _fine_?" JD countered angrily.

A pause.

"I'm sorry," Dan said. "You're just really starting to freak me out. Are you really okay? And I'm not talking just about the car accident."

He wanted to tell Dan everything. He wanted to tell him about how all of a sudden things had gotten worse, and how he'd never really gotten over what he'd done to Cameron and what he used to do to himself, and how he was scared that he was falling apart all over again, and…

"Really, Dan, I'm okay. Honestly."

"Alright." Dan sounded reassured. "But what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, I think I can just push the car out of this ditch. It isn't that deep."

"Are you sure?" Dan asked. "I can come down and get you, if I need to."

"No, I'll be fi—I'll be okay," he corrected himself quickly. The last thing he needed was for Dan to _see_ him.

"Alright. I'll talk to you later, Johnny, okay?"

"Okay," JD said. He paused. _Just spit it out_, he told himself. "Dan, wait."

"Yeah?"

"If your car spun off the road, how would you feel?" The question was glaringly suspicious.

"I'd feel freakin' ecstatic that I was alive," he said. "Oh, and pissed that I banged up my car. Why?"

JD felt a gnawing unease in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh, um, yeah, me too. Freakin' ecstatic! Um, I'll talk to you later."

JD hung up the phone.

He felt bad lying to Dan—it took a lot for his brother to connect with anyone on an emotional level. If Dan was actually expressing his concern, then he must have been pretty worried.

But Dan had been there for him, at least in whatever way he could. JD rested his head against the top of the seat and closed his eyes.

"_Jesus H. Christ, Johnny! What the hell were you doing?"_

_JD looked away. The synthetic hospital bed felt uncomfortable beneath him._

"_How stupid do you have to be to fall into a lake in the middle of winter?"_

"_I'm sorry," he muttered. Dan was sitting in the lone visitor's chair by his bedside. The machine he was hooked up to beeped. JD wanted to tear it out of him._

"_You were hypothermic!" Dan ranted. "They had to restart your heart!"_

"_I _know_," he said through gritted teeth. How had it come to this? Had it really come to this?_

"_You idiot! Did you _want_ to die?!"_

"_Yes!" JD shouted._

_Dan looked shaken. There was silence._

"_W-what?"_

"_Yes, I wanted to die!" he shouted._

"_But—why?"_

"_Why the hell do you think?" he said bitterly. He pulled his knees into his chest, hugging them fiercely. _

"_Johnny, what happened wasn't your fault," Dan whispered, inching closer to the bed._

"_I _killed_ our sister!" His voice cracked. _

"_It wasn't your fault!" Dan repeated fiercely._

"_Yeah, and do you think Mom and Dad were all 'its fine, John, don't worry about it?' They _hate_ me." He felt tears running down his face. "And they should."_

_JD buried his face in his knees. He was sobbing, now. This truly was rock bottom._

"_I hate myself." It came out as barely more than a whisper._

_He felt Dan's arms wrap around him. He buried his head into Dan's shoulder and cried, so hard that it hurt. The pain felt good. _

_And he hated it. _

* * *

The sun was rising as JD pulled into Sacred Heart. The snow had stopped, and rays of light reflected off its white film in a blinding illumination. It was beautiful, yet somehow it made him sad. He felt marked—infected, like he had some sort of miserable disease and he'd spread his misery on all of the good, happy people. He didn't want to see his friends and contaminate them, or see anyone.

JD parked the car in the plowed lot. He rubbed his eyes, reclining in the seat. He was so _tired_—it felt like hours since he'd last slept. And it had been, he reflected. It had been almost twenty-four hours, but his shift was about to start. A siren began to wail—first one, and then two. Reluctantly, JD shook himself out of his reverie and got out of the car. Another ambulance sped out of parking lot. _There must have been a big accident_, he thought.

He stalked across the lot. At the entrance of the hospital was commotion. People were shouting orders, nurses were packing MediGo bags. An ambulance pulled up and a team of doctors in EMT jackets loaded quickly on to it before it sped off. JD's eyes widened.

"Newbie!" someone barked. JD turned. Dr. Cox was striding up towards him, supplies in his arms.

"Dr. Cox, what's going on?" JD asked.

"Medical emergency, major trauma. We need all hands on deck. Here—" Dr. Cox tossed him a kit and insulated field jacket.

"What happened?" He pulled the jacket over his day-old streets.

"Ferry out on the bay had some sort of gas leak—there was a huge explosion and we've got all kinds of casualties." Dr. Cox was speaking very fast and very seriously. "We're looking at over a hundred. We need everyone we can send out on the field while the rest free up rooms and ORs. Get on that ambulance."

"But my proba—" JD began to protest.

"No time for that. We need as many good doctors as possible. Now go, Charlotte!"

JD clambered into the ambulance and sat, wedged in a row of people. In an instant it was speeding off, siren screeching. JD's stomach clenched. The claustrophobia was suffocating. What would the ambulance doors open to? His head was pounding, and he felt wracked by a sense of impending doom.

Something was going to happen. Something bad. The ambulance ride was all he had to prepare his aching, sleep-deprived body for whatever lay ahead.

The siren wailed on.

* * *

A/N: Once again, I'm so one-thousand times sorry for not updating. Three months is obscenely too long, especially after leaving the chapter at a cliff hanger. In my defense, I've been so busy I've barely had time to sleep, much less write, but it's a bad excuse and I know it. I will try and update ASAP but I can't promise anything. With the onset of the spring shows I'm performing in, my life is only going to get (if possible) busier. (You try rehearsing from 3-8 and getting home at nine and having to do homework and study)

I thank everyone for their great reviews. I appreciate the response so much, even if I don't update in ages. Seriously, reading reviews is like eating a giant slice of chocolate cake. (and I need reviews—I gave sweets up for Lent. *sob*)

Anyway, if you don't want to shank me then please review and I apologize again for not updating.

Cheers!

--JR


	7. Chapter 7

My Oxygen, by JACmRob

Chapter 7

Smoke as black as charcoal flooded the sky above JD. He gritted his teeth and applied more pressure to the cut on the woman's abdomen. Her face was drained of blood and matted of sweat. Her eyelids fluttered and she gave a low moan.

"It's going to be okay," JD told her. This was only protocol—the bruising around her eyes indicated a more severe problem, but JD knew he had to stem the blood flow from her stomach or risk her bleeding out. "You've lost a lot of blood, but we're going to take you to the hospital."

The woman moaned again. With one hand, JD reached into his bag and began to pull out bandages. The wound needed stitches, but they could wait until she reached the hospital.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

"I… um…" the woman's eyes were out of focus. "I don't know." Her voice trembled. "Please... help me..." Her cries grew agitated.

"It's going to be alright," he told her. He finished bandaging her stomach and gently lifted her eyelids. The pupils were dilated.

"I need a stretcher over here!" he shouted. "Someone who's going back to a hospital, get over here _now_!"

A man knelt at his side.

"Lift on three," he said. "What's her status?"

"Jane Doe, Caucasian woman about thirty-five, severe blood loss due to abdominal injury…"

"One, two, three—" Together they lifted her on to a stretcher. JD grabbed one end of it helped hoist it onto a cot with wheels.

"…amnesia, caused by a head injury, I'm not sure how severe, and there appears to be swelling—someone needs to relieve the pressure or she's not going to make it."

"My head," the woman muttered faintly. "It hurts… where am I?"

"It's going to be okay," JD repeated, as the second doctor wheeled the cart towards an ambulance. "You're on your way to a hospital." The bed loaded and the woman was masked from view as the doors closed. He faltered backwards and watch the ambulance speed away.

Arrival at the port had yielded complete and utter chaos. Fire trucks were spraying water on the decimated end of the ship, sending black smoke clouds billowing into the sky. Bodies were being removed from the ferry, doctors were triaging, family members were anxiously searching for loved ones, all while wounds were bandages and people rushed to hospitals throughout the city. Some were pulled from the wreckage with severe burns, oozing and peeling, more gruesome than any injuries JD had ever seen. Others were crushed by debris or pierced by shards of metal and glass. Some of the bodies found had been burnt beyond human recognition.

JD had rushed from site to site, providing as much help as possible. He bandaged wounds and herded those without severe injuries safely out of the way, despite their angry protestations. It has only been an hour or two, but JD was exhausted. Panicked screams and urgent shouts and sirens engulfed him. He wrung his hands--covered in blood and numb with cold.

Suddenly he felt something tug at his sleeve. He turned around. Behind him was a little girl, no more than six or seven, with blonde hair braided into a plait. Her eyes were wide. He knelt quickly, scanning her for injuries.

"Do you need help? Are you hurt?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Do you know where your mommy and daddy are?" Again, she shook her head. JD stood, offering her his hand.

"I'm going to take you to a safe place to wait until you find them, okay?" he said. She regarded him warily.

"It's okay," he coaxed gently. "I'm here to help. Can you tell me your name?"

She said nothing, staring at him with guarded eyes.

"You don't have to say anything," he said softly. "When I was little, and was scared I didn't talk either. But I can help you find your mommy and daddy, okay?"

She hesitated for a moment, and then grasped his hand.

JD began to lead her away when he heard a faint groan.

"Hang on…" he said. He listened intently and the sound came again, this time stronger. He pulled the girl around a pylon and found the source of the sound. A man was lying face down, obstructed from the rest of the scene. He was dripping, but the water around him began to pool with crimson liquid. JD sprinted over and rolled the man onto his back. Blood blossomed from his chest, staining his soaked shirt and jacket.

"Crap," JD muttered. The man must have been thrown off the ship in the explosion. Somehow he had managed to swim here and hoist himself up upon the dock.

"Help! I need some help over here!"

His shouts echoed brokenly in the din, cut off from the rest of the bedlam. No one could see him. No one could hear him. The little girl hovered behind him like a shadow, looking more terrified than ever.

"Hold on," he told her, while unbuttoning the man's jacket. "I need to help him first…" Her eyes widened at the sight of all the blood. "You don't have to look," he told her. "Just close your eyes… that's it. It'll be over soon."

He opened the man's shirt. A shard of glass protruded from his chest. As the man inhaled it contracted. He took sharp, rattling breaths, unable to fill his lungs. The girl's eyes had opened again, and her mouth was wide in a silent scream.

"I need you to try and breathe," he told the man. "Just take as deep breaths as possible."

The man sucked in a gasping breath. JD grasped the shard.

"This is going to hurt," he murmured. "I need you to lie as still as possible."

He positioned his other hand flat on the man's chest, surrounding the slice. Taking a deep breath, he pulled.

It happened in an instant. The man let out an agonized shout, and flailed his arms. One of them caught JD squarely in the chest and he was knocked backwards. His feet grappled at the edge of the dock, and he felt his mouth widen in shock, but before he could even make a sound he was thrown off the pier.

The water smothered him like a blanket of ice. He was engulfed by it—making his limbs heavy and his lungs pop. His mind felt fuzzy from the cold. He could see the surface glittering above him, like some old forgotten memory, and his mind voiced only one thought. Oxygen. Get oxygen. Fight, he told himself. He kicked his legs, letting out a stream of bubbles. He kicked again, more fiercely.

JD broke the surface with a gasping breath. He flailed his limbs to stay afloat, sinking back under and then coming up again.

"Help." It came out as a hoarse, barely audible whisper. "Help," he tried again, more insistently, hearing his voice crack and break. He struggled, engulfed in the cold. No one was coming. He fought to keep his head above, to stay alive. _I want to live._ Would it take dying to convince himself of that? No one saw.

_And when no one sees_, he thought, _people just… fade away_. His head sunk beneath the surface. He hung suspended in the water, unmoving, eyes wide. He let the oxygen whoosh from his lungs in a trail of bubbles. Dizziness and numbness overtook him. Sweet surrender. It was so easy, so easy just to fade away.

_

* * *

_

"I think he's coming around now."

"Definitely."

JD blinked hazily. Faces were swimming in front of him.

"Awake, Johnny? Anyone home?" It took him a moment to realize that the voice was addressing him.

Above him he caught a glimpse of turbulent blonde hair. He blinked again, and the face came into focus.

"Jesus, what does it take to get you up?" Cameron said, raising an eyebrow.

JD sat bolt upright.

"_What the hell?"_

* * *

A/N: And... plot twist! Review please!

Once again, I'm sorry it's been taking me forever to update. I'm trying to keep up with this story as much as I can though, and I do plan on finishing it, even if it takes forever, so bear with me.

Thanks to everyone who reviews, it's really what keeps me writing. Keep it up and I promise I will too!

--JR


	8. Chapter 8

My Oxygen, by JACmRob

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Bewildered, he could only gape at her.

"But—you—wha..?" he spluttered. She grinned at him, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Very articulate, Johnny."

"Where the hell am I?" JD asked in a panic.

"Looks to me like you're in a hospital," Cameron said serenely. "Your hospital—right? Sacred Heart?"

He glanced around and took in his surroundings. They in the morgue, and he was sitting atop the long metal table used for dissecting cadavers. It was Sacred Heart, yes, but it was somehow different. Completely empty, for one thing, and so silent that their voices echoed down the hallway.

It wasn't his Sacred Heart. It was somewhere… else. He could sense the hospital in the way he'd known it, full of people and patients, but it was as if he was feeling it from behind a veil.

"But where _is_ here? As in, why are you here?"

She gave him a strange look. "Don't you remember?"

The docks. The water. Freezing. Gasping. Sinking. Dark. Dizziness. Drifting away.

It tumbled at him in flashes of images. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm not…"

She said nothing, but her look was enough.

"I drowned."

"Yup."

He exhaled a deep breath.

"Huh."

Cameron raised her eyebrows, leaning back against the morgue's wall and folding her arms across her chest.

"That's it? Huh?"

"What do you want me to do?" he asked skeptically. She gave him an incredulous look.

"Oh, I don't know… Yell? Cry? Bash your head against the wall? Start throwing things and shouting about how unfair it is? For Christ's sake Johnny, you're dead. You'd think it'd mean something to you."

He shifted on the table and rested his head against his knees.

"It does."

She gave him the look, the look he remembered so vividly from his childhood, which clearly stated 'that's bull-crap and you know it.' Thankfully she let it go.

"So which one is this? Heaven or hell?" he asked, glancing around.

She shrugged.

"I don't know. None of the above?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He slid off the morgue table and peered out the door into the corridor. It was empty. "What happens now? I'm just… here?

She shrugged. "It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On you," she said seriously.

"And what the hell does _that_ mean?" he retorted angrily. A hazy panic tightened his chest, making his heart flutter. He needed to know if this, this existence, was forever. "Could you please just give me some straight answers?"

"I don't have the answers, Johnny," she said, walking out into the hallway.

"But you're _here_," he persisted, following her out.

"I'm here because you're here," she said simply. Her dimpled face and blue eyes surveyed him, penetrating like an x-ray.

"So this is all in my head?"

"I didn't say that."

His mind was spinning.

"I'm here…" he murmured to himself, trying to rationalize. "Here, at Sacred Heart, but not really Sacred Heart. And you're here… for me?"

"Hey, it's your afterlife, not mine."

"That doesn't make any sense," he snapped.

"You're dead," she countered. "So I doubt it's going to, smart-ass."

She started down the hallway. Her heels clacked, and the sound carried, reverberating forlornly. He hurried after her, catching pace.

"Where are we going?" he asked, as they turned into a stairwell and climbed up a floor. She shrugged.

"Nowhere." They crossed over to the nurse's station. It felt odd, surreal, to see the wing so devoid of anything.

"There was someone else," he began slowly. "When I first woke up… you were talking to someone. Someone else is here!"

"There are a lot of people here," she offered cryptically.

"But you were talking to someone," he continued. "I heard it- I know I did. Someone else here."

"Me?"

JD whirled around. Behind him was a young man with curly brown hair and a square jaw covered with shaggy stubble. He stood, hands in pockets, and stared at JD, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Tristan?" JD asked disbelievingly. "You—"

"Hey, man."

Tristan Cross ambled over to them, taking a seat behind the desk in the chair Carla always sat in. JD vividly remembered him—he'd been brought with multiple gun-shot wounds from a fight in a pool hall that had escalated. For almost two weeks JD had carefully monitored and medicated him, until the puncture in his lung reopened. He died on the operating table. It had been JD's call.

Cameron hopped up onto the counter, swinging her legs. JD glanced gaze shifted back and forth between them, trying to make some sense of it.

"Why are _you_ here?"

"Because of you, Dr. Dorian." Tristan started crumpling up post-it notes and tossing them at the wastebasket, trying to reach it.

"You going to talk about it?" Cameron asked, grabbing a lollypop from Laverne's mug and popped it into her mouth. "Mmmm—cherry."

"Talk about what?" he asked.

"The water, of course."

_It smothered him like a blanket of ice. He was engulfed by it—making his limbs heavy and his lungs pop. His mind felt fuzzy from the cold._ _He could see the surface glittering above him—_

"Want one?"

His eyes snapped open. He was standing in the empty hallway. Dry, breathing. Cameron was offering him a lollypop. Breathing heavily, he shook his head.

"Hey—go long!"

Tristan backpedaled in the office chair across the lobby, holding up his hands. Cameron tossed him a pop. He leaned back too far in the chair, grabbing it with both hands but toppling over backwards. Cameron snorted with laughter.

JD only felt bewildered. He couldn't even tell if this was actually real. It looked real—felt real—but somehow he couldn't wrap his head around it. Was this it? Was _this_ it?

"You know," said Tristan, pulling the lollypop out of his mouth and twirling it in his fingers as he walked back over towards them, "You'll never get anywhere if you don't talk about it." He walked back over to them.

"'Get anywhere?'" JD questioned. "What does that mean?"

"Don't you want to move on from here?" Cameron asked.

"Move onto where?"

A pause.

"It's your afterlife, not mine," she repeated finally.

"Damn straight," said Tristan, sucking on his lollypop.

JD tried to wrap his head around it.

"So… is this purgatory, or something?"

"_No_." Tristan snorted. "What is that, a disease? Dude, you don't get the traditional Christian, party-on-a-cloud-in-paradise-forever antic. It sounds like a lot of bs to me."

"Then what do I get?" he asked. He'd never been faithful, but in his mind's eye he could still see Dr. Cox doing his 'I told you so' victory dance.

Cameron and Tristan glanced at each other.

"It's up to you," Cameron said. The notion fell upon him like a heavy blanket, but it didn't sooth him. Uncertainty swirled through his mind.

"Oh son of a _bitch_." JD looked up. Tristan was staring at his hand angrily. There was something dripping from it, and—JD's stomach lurched—he realized with a thrill of fear that it was blood.

"Not _again_!"

Red blossomed from Tristan's chest, soaking his shirt and staining it. The crimson spread further and further, until it began to drip, pooling on the linoleum floor. JD yelled in shock. Tristan's knees bucked, and he collapsed to the ground.

JD rushed over and turned him onto his back, trying to find the source of the bleeding.

"Crap, crap," he muttered. He pressed his hands to Tristan's chest, pushing down on the wound trying to stem the flow. Warm, sticky blood gushed onto his hands.

"Cameron!" he shouted frantically, looking around for her. "Cameron—quick! Run into one of the rooms and from the cabinet grab me some bandages and gauze, and I'm going to need a kit for sutures—hurry up! Look at how much blood he's lost!"

But Cameron was leaning calmly against a wall, surveying him without surprise.

"What are you _doing_?" he yelled, pressing harder on the wound. Why was she just standing there? He had to save Tristan—he had to save him—

"You can't help him," she said evenly.

"What are you talking about? Can't you see he's bleeding!"

"I don't see anything," she stated.

He looked down.

Tristan had vanished. The blood had vanished. He looked at his hands—they were clean.

He stood up. Suddenly, he felt exhausted. His eyes hurt, as if he'd been focusing on a complex puzzle for hours. Wearily, he walked down the corridor and sank against the wall. Cameron followed, sitting opposite him.

"Ready to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer.

"What happened in the water, JD?"

_Oxygen. Get oxygen. Fight, he told himself. His head sunk beneath the surface—_

"Stop!" he cried. He opened his eyes, gasping for air. Still in the hallway. Still in the hospital. But now… he was alone.

"Cameron?" The word echoed across the dark hall.

He felt something wet soak into his pants and feet. He looked down. Water was pooling on the floor around him. Panicked, he leaped to his feet.

"Cameron!"

The water was gushing in—from where, he didn't know—now at his ankles. He ran down the hallway, splashing through the water. Get out, he told himself. His breathing came in short bursts. And then—how had it gotten so high?—he was wading through water, icy water, up to his waist. Stairs, his numb mind threw out. Get to the stairs.

It was up to his chest now. He wrenched the door open at the end of the hall, gasping with the effort of pulling it through the heavy water. But more only came flooding down—it was up to his neck—and now the tip of his mouth could just barely reach oxygen, and—

After one heaving breath he was completely under. The water crushed him like cement. The surface… where was the surface? He was trapped… he was drowning…

He was breathing.

He opened his eyes. He was standing in the stairwell, alone. No water. No flood. JD was trembling.

"Get me out of here," he whispered.

* * *

A/N: Just for anyone who didn't know already, this fic is based on a story-arc of grey's anatomy. Which is why you're seeing the familiar plot elements. I'm trying to differentiate, though, but I loved the theme of it. What'd you think of Tristan and Cameron? They're my first OCs for any fanfic—were they good? Did they suck?

Any thoughts on this chapter I would appreciate. There was tons of dialog, which is always fun.

I'll update soon, I promise!

--JR


	9. Chapter 9

**My Oxygen, by JACmRob**

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

They were sitting opposite each other in a deserted hallway. A faint light was filtering in from somewhere, capturing the spot in a strange, ethereal haze. Not light and not dark.

"I don't blame you, you know," Cameron said quietly. He didn't respond.

"What happened to me wasn't your fault, Johnny, and you've got to stop blaming yourself."

"Cameron, I _killed_ you," he said brokenly, looking up at her.

"No," she countered. "I _died_, because life is a _bitch_. You didn't kill me."

"I was the one driving that car, Cam," he said. "Not you."

"What happened in the water, Johnny?" she asked abruptly.

He surveyed her. It was time to speak, he knew. Time to own up.

"I was fighting," he said quietly. "I was fighting it, Cameron. But it was so _cold_, and then…"

"What?" she probed gently.

"And then…I thought—only for the tiniest second—I thought…_what's the point_?"

His voice cracked.

"And… I guess I… gave up."

He closed his eyes. How could he have given up?

He opened his eyes again, but Cameron was gone. JD rested his head against the wall. Suddenly, there came a scuffing sound from a room off the hallway.

Noiselessly, he stood and padded over to the room. Someone was seated on the edge of the cot. The man had brown hair, but was turned away, concealing his face.

"Tristan?" JD asked hesitantly.

The man looked up.

It was himself.

"You aren't real," JD said instantly.

"What would you know about real?" his doppelganger shot back. JD regarded him warily.

"Why am I seeing you? Why are you here?"

"I know why _you're_ here," said the other JD, in a tone JD didn't recognize on himself. It sounded…menacing. "You deserve to be here. And you know it."

His double stood up, resting his hands on a tray of surgical tools. A scalpel gleamed.

"You're _pathetic_. Not only do you know how to screw up someone else's life, but you're too pathetic to even live yours. You're _weak_."

JD's hands clenched into fists.

"Fraud."

"Shut up," he said through gritted teeth.

"Washout."

"Shut up!"

"_Murderer…_"

"SHUT UP!"

He launched himself across the room at his mirror image, but the form disappeared and he slammed into the wall.

"You can't escape me."

JD whirled round. His double sneered at him from across the room.

"Like I said, pathetic. It's time to man up, JD. Or should I say too late? But what does it matter? Your life wasn't worth anything anyway."

They began to circle each other.

"You killed your sister. You stole her life. _You_ should have died that night, not her. Cameron had plans. Cameron was going to _be_ someone."

The double picked up the scalpel, running it through his fingers.

"Dan was always getting into trouble, but he had plenty of friends. Mom and Dad noticed him. Everyone at school loved him."

The double held the sharp blade up to his face, examining it closely. "Cameron was everyone's star. You heard Mom and Dad. They loved her in a way they never loved you. Cameron knew how to make friends instantly. Cameron had _plans_."

The double ran his finger across the blade. "And you?" His finger caught, drawing blood. JD flinched, half expecting to feel a burst of pain himself. "Little Johnny. The nobody."

"That isn't true," JD said quietly.

"Let's face it JD." The doppelganger slowly ran the blade across his palm; trickles of blood welled up and coursed down h is arm. "Nobody is missing you."

The other JD pulled the blade even lower, slicing through his forearm at a sickeningly slow pace. Blood was dripping on to his shirt and pants.

"Your friends? Sure, they'll be sad for a while. But eventually, they'll move on like everyone else. Stop thinking of you when they see your favorite show. Stop expecting to see you at work. They'll even forget what you look like. They don't need you to live their lives happily.

"Dan? He's probably relieved that he doesn't have his screwed-up little brother as a burden anymore."

"That isn't true!" JD said again, louder.

"And your parents? Please. They're glad. They hate you. And they should—look what you did to them. If anyone figured you out, it was them. They saw what a worthless piece of shit you—"

"SHUT UP!"

JD flung himself at his doppelganger, ripping the scalpel from his hands and plunging it into the chest of his mirror image.

"I didn't deserve what they did to me and I _don't_ deserve to die!"

He stabbed the body repeatedly, twisting the scalpel into his own heart.

"I—" He punctuated every stab.

"Am—" There was blood on his hands, blood on his clothes, blood everywhere. The crimson stained everything—the walls, the floor, himself.

"Stronger than you!"

JD let go of the mangled corpse and it dropped to the ground. The scarlet pool began to run; trickles of blood splayed outwards on the white linoleum.

And despite it, JD finally felt clean.

Suddenly, the room began spinning. JD felt the strangest sensation, like he wasn't _here_, yet not _there_ either… Through the dizziness he heard voices.

"_You've tried all you can. Someone has to call it."_

"_Well 'all we can' isn't good enough, damn it! Try it again!" _

That voice he recognized. Dr. Cox.

"_He's been gone for nearly two hours…"_

Carla. She was crying.

"_Do it again! Come on JD, breathe, man…"_

Turk.

"_At this point, even if he was resuscitated, he'd probably have extensive __brain damage—"_

"_I don't care! Now charge the damn paddles!_

_"One more time._ _Charging … Clear!"_

And then, as swiftly as it had blurred, everything came back into focus again. He was _here_, he was stable again, alone.

Suddenly it all fell into place.

"I'm not dead. Oh God."

He felt the oxygen draining from his lungs.

JD sprinted into the hallway, barreling into a tall, blonde figure.

"Oh God! Cameron—" He grasped her shoulders. "Cameron, I want to live. I _want_ to _live_!"

The pieces began to come together.

"That's what you meant—it's up to me! This—this is a hallucination! A test! You're only real to me because you aren't real! It depends—on _me_. And—and—I'm at Sacred Heart."

His heart was fluttering.

"They've found my body—they're trying to restart my heart!"

"JD," Cameron stated. She grabbed his wrist urgently.

"I _know_ now!" he continued forcefully. "I want to live! You—you were trying to make me realize it all along! To get me to talk about it—to figure it out! And then—and then I beat it! I beat myself!"

"Run."

"What?"

Cameron pulled him into a hug.

"Run," she breathed into his ear. "I love you. Go. Now."

He lingered for a moment and then pulled away from her. He ran down the stairs, through the silent clinic. His heart was thumping in his chest as though it might burst—every beat resounded in his ears as loud as a sonic blast.

He sprinted past the nurse's station and into the waiting room. Everything was blurring again—voices were shouting in his ears, but their words were drowned out by the violent pulsation of his heart—the room was spinning. He grasped the hospital's door—he was drowning in the erratic thumping of his screaming heart, the pounding of blood and neurons—he wrenched it open—

TBC...

* * *

A/N: Once again, I take forever to post a new chapter. Inexcusable, I know. I'm just a slow updater. This story, however, is coming to its conclusion. The next chapter will be the last. Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story despite my short-comings regarding updating. This will officially be the first multi-chapter story I complete (yes!!), and I am very proud of myself for sticking with it.

So folks, hang in there for one more chapter! Review!

--JR


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